


The Dangers Inherent in Nostalgia

by mydeira



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-28
Updated: 2013-07-28
Packaged: 2017-12-21 15:25:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/901853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mydeira/pseuds/mydeira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A routine trip for supplies turns into something more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Dangers Inherent in Nostalgia

**Author's Note:**

> Written for bethynyc in the Giles Birthday mini-ficathon (on LiveJournal in August of 2005). The request was for Giles/Wesley or Giles/Spike with raunchy sex, classic rock music and reference to Quentin Travers being a jerk; also no meanness or jealousy. I didn’t get Travers in but I did reference the Council. Otherwise, I think I covered everything. Hope you enjoy. A huge thank you for Savvy who kept me encourage with this with all the little turns it decided to take.

Something was going on at Rupert Giles’ flat.  And it certainly wasn’t a Scooby meeting by the sounds of it.  Spike highly doubted their tastes in music lent themselves to The Clash.  No, ol’ Rupes had to be all by his lonesome to be listening to that fare this fine evening.  Royally pissed as well, he’d wager.  Should make his bi-weekly raid go a lot smoother.

 

Never one to waste manners where they weren’t appreciated, Spike let himself in.  Giles was standing by his turntable seeming to debate which of the two records he was currently holding would go on next.  A slight frown was the only thing to indicate that he acknowledged Spike’s presence.  He set aside one of the albums and turned to change the music.  It was the closest thing to permission that Spike could ever hope for, not that he needed it.

 

He made his way to the kitchen and began sorting through the cupboards, which were mostly bare.  So the old man was finally getting wise.  Time for Spike to change up his routine a bit.  He wondered why Giles didn’t uninvite him from the house; it would effectively put an end to the raiding.  Unless he really didn’t mind.  Probably the only visitor he got these days with the kiddies all involved with their own lives.

 

Strains of Pink Floyd’s “Dark Side of the Moon” came through the speakers as Spike found an unopened box of Wheatabix.  At least he wouldn’t go home empty handed.  He started to exit the kitchen for the liquor cabinet in the living room and nearly ran into Rupert leaning against the doorframe, scotch in hand as he watched Spike.

 

“Oy, not supposed to sneak up on a bloke like that!”

 

“I didn’t think vampires could be snuck up on,” he smirked.

 

“Your music’s too loud,” Spike grumbled, brushing past him.  “Don’t suppose you’d offer me a drink to make up for it?”

 

“Help yourself,” Giles said with little emotion.  “You always do.”

 

“Doin’ you a favor, mate,” he replied, picking through the bottles until he found half a pint of Jack.  “Not good to have all this around with only one person to drink it.”

 

“I’m touched, Spike.  To think after all this time you really do care,” his companion said acerbically as he sat on the couch.

 

“So what’s the occasion, Watcher?  Avert another apocalypse?”

 

“I never thought I’d see the day...” he shook his head.  “But sadly, no.  Just my birthday.”

 

And the kiddies were nowhere to be found?  How interesting.

 

“And before you go making me seem more pathetic than I already am, the children do not know.  Which is exactly how I want it to remain,” his tone was adamant.  “I much prefer my birthdays to pass in peace.”

 

“As opposed to the Slayer’s which are just a string of calamities?” Spike snickered, remembering the Watcher-turned-Fyarl lumbering about the streets of Sunnydale.  “Though I suppose you got the worst of it, this time around.”

 

“Thank you once again for reminding me of one of my finer moments,” Giles grimaced.  “Bloody knew better than to take drinks with the bastard.”

 

“Probably did you some good, Watcher.  Lettin’ loose like that.”  Picking up the bottle of whiskey, Spike made his way to the armchair and sat in a comfortable sprawl, facing Giles on the couch.  “Admit it, you loved chasing away the good professor.”

 

“There was a certain amount of satisfaction, I’ll admit,” his host smiled in spite of himself.  “But if Ethan ever got the idea that I actually enjoyed it, I’d never hear the end of it.”

 

“Sounds like a man after my own heart.”

 

“Oh, you two would get along famously.  But one of you at a time is more than enough for anyone to have to endure,” Giles finished his glass off then rose and headed over to the liquor cabinet.

 

“So, this Ethan and you go way back, eh?” Spike called after him.

 

“To another life.”

 

There was an odd note in Giles’ voice that made Spike refrain from pressing the issue further.  Regret with a hint of fondness and a touch of longing, possibly?  Whatever it was, it didn’t seem right to harass him about it.  Not that he cared about the man’s feelings, because evil after all, but Giles was actually talking to him versus the usual glaring and threatening he did.  It was odd.  Spike took a swig of the whiskey to distract himself from pursuing the thoughts any further.  He was here to stock up on necessities for the crypt, not to pal around with the eldest Scooby.

 

Which he had and should by all rights be leaving.  Instead he remained where he was, sipping the whiskey and watching the Watcher move about the room.

 

Giles was flipping through his record collection when he spoke again.  “Sometimes I wish I’d never left.  It was an easier way to live.  And...”

 

“You didn’t feel so old?” Spike supplied.

 

“Useless.”  After a pause, “The world was ours for the taking.  And we took.  Didn’t give a damn about anyone but ourselves.”

 

“If you miss it so much, why don’t you go back to it?”

 

Giles looked at him.

 

“What’s stopping you?”

 

“Buffy…”

 

“Doesn’t need you anymore.”

 

“No, she doesn’t,” he agreed.  “Nor am I beholden to the bloody Council anymore either.”

 

“Watch it there, you almost sound happy.”

 

“I never wanted to be one of them,” Giles pulled out a record, considered it, then put it back.  “Ran away from it for a time.  Never intended to go back.”

 

“So why did you?” Spike inquired, getting up to join Giles by the records.

 

“Went too far one day and realized if I didn’t get out then that it would destroy me.”

 

“If it almost destroyed you, why would you want to go back to that life?”

 

“Ethan never left and he’s still around.”

 

“And captive of the Initiative, I hear.”

 

“For all of twenty minutes,” Giles said with a touch of pride.  “Ethan always could find a way out.”

 

And suddenly something occurred to Spike.  “You two weren’t just friends, were you?”

 

“Ethan and I have been everything except friends.  Well, it’s possible that we were friends in the very beginning.  But that isn’t what you’re asking, is it?” the Watcher looked at him knowingly, an enigmatic smile on his lips as he leaned in close.  “Yes, Spike, Ethan and I were lovers.” 

 

While he had been certain that was the case, Spike hadn’t expected Giles to come right out and admit it.  No bluster or denial or anger.  Just admission.

 

“How much’ve you had tonight, Watcher?” his eyes darted over to the glass sitting on the shelf where Giles had set it.

 

“Too little to not know better.”

 

“Never took you for the type,” he observed.

 

“Sexual attraction for me has never been limited by gender,” Giles said casually enough, but there was an intense look in his eyes as he seemed to study Spike.  “It’s a wonder I didn’t see it before.”

 

“See what?”

 

“How much like Ethan you really are.  No wonder you always manage to get on my nerves.”

 

“That so?” Spike considered the Watcher closely.  Things could get very interesting.  “Bet you never chained him up in a bathtub.”

 

Giles frowned thoughtfully.  “No, never in a tub.  Generally, the bed.  The kitchen table a time or two.  A warehouse pipe...”

 

“I wasn’t asking for a detailed account,” Spike protested lightly.

 

“Weren’t you, Spike?” Giles took a step closer, putting them toe-to-toe.  “You’re not in the least bit curious that I liked it rough and violent?  Hard and quick and bruising.  To mark and be marked just to have that lasting reminder, that sharp twinge or dull ache that brought it all crashing back.”

 

“Did you now?” Spike quirked an eyebrow.  “Trying to shock me, Watcher?”

 

“No, I’m giving you fair warning.”

 

Before Spike could react, strong fingers twisted in the collar of his shirt, pulling him into direct contact with Giles’ body a split second before the man’s mouth crashed upon his.  It was a savage, hungry attack that Spike willingly conceded to.  Not that he could really fight back with the chip and all.

 

Tongue and teeth and scotch and anger, heady and brutal.  Fuck, but it reminded him of Angelus.

 

Suddenly he was tumbling backwards, having been shoved violently away.  He very nearly missed landing on the end table.

 

“Reason finally win out?” Spike laughed.

 

“Go.  Upstairs.”  The man removed his glasses and set them by the turntable.

 

“Not sure what game you’re playing at, but what makes you think I’m gonna do that?”  While Spike wasn’t opposed to the idea, it really was a bit presumptuous on the Watcher’s part to assume Spike would willingly obey any command, let alone his.

 

“Oh, you will,” Giles said with certainty.

 

“Chip aside, still a free agent here.  And I’m thinking no.”

 

“No?” his companion said, striding slowly to where Spike now stood.  “That’s disappointing.”

 

“Frankly, Rupert, I’m not in the mood to call your bluff.” With that, Spike turned on his heel to leave, only to have a hand grip the back of his coat roughly and yank him backward.

 

 “Who said I was bluffing?” a hard voice rasped in his ear.  “Now you can go up of your own volition.  Or I can make you go.”

 

“From the way things are going, I bet you’re going to make me do many things tonight.  So I’ll humor you for the moment,” Spike replied, slipping out of the coat before making his way over to the stairs.  Glancing back with a smirk, “Your standing there is making this look every bit a bluff, mate.”

 

He continued his ascent, pleased to hear heavy footfalls follow shortly behind him.

 

It was a simple room, spartan without being boring.  His eyes immediately went to the headboard.  Sturdy, dark wood that would hold up under the toughest wear.

 

“Not quite the den of iniquity I pictured,” Spike joked to the man behind him.

 

“A drab surface isn’t always an accurate depiction of what lies beneath,” Giles rumbled meaningfully.

 

“No?” Spike turned, grinning wickedly.  “Could’ve fooled me.”

 

Something flared in Giles’ eyes, but otherwise he remained still.  His voice was icy calm when he spoke.  “On your knees.”

 

“Bit presumptuous, aren’t we?”

 

Eyes narrowed a fraction.  “I would have thought Angelus to have little tolerance for such insolence.”

 

“Oh, he had none.  But I couldn’t make things easy for him, now could I?”  Spike cocked his head to the side.  “And I highly doubt your buddy Ethan was your willing and ready slave.”

 

“Ethan always required a bit of persuasion.”

 

“Another thing we have in common.  You really should—”

 

Giles’ punch landed squarely in Spike’s gut, and while the breath knocked out of him was unneeded, the shock of it was enough to double him over.  A position his companion took full advantage of to, with the aid of gravity, force Spike down on his knees.

 

“The Slayer has no idea,” Spike chuckled.  “Must kill you to have to stay out of the fight.  You’ve always loved a good brawl, haven’t you?”

 

The Watcher made no reply, except to unfasten his trousers.

 

While this wasn’t quite how he pictured his evening going, Spike decided it could be far worse.

 

Taking the initiative, he pushed Giles’ pants to the floor, slightly surprised that he wore nothing underneath.  Convenient, but a still a surprise.  He’d always figured the Watcher for a briefs man.

 

“Couldn’t be that you were expecting this, were you, mate?” Spike glanced up as he ran one hand along the hot, semi-erect flesh.  While it wouldn’t take any prizes, it was clear the man never had to suffer from penis envy.

 

Before the man could reply, Spike captured the member completely in his mouth, the blood flow of many vessels a tantalizing seduction against his tongue.  The essence of life teased him through touch with what the chip denied him.  It was as much a means to distract himself as to drive Giles to orgasm, that Spike set about using every trick he had ever learned to drive the man crazy.

 

A bit of teeth, a swirl of tongue, agonizing slowness with not quite enough pressure . . . a century and more worth of skills were put to the test.  And not one sound did Giles make.  The only indication that he was affected at all, besides the rapid beating of his heart, was the subtle tremors of muscles pushing the limits of resistance.  It wouldn’t take long at all at this rate.  Spike switched gears from teasing to determined.

 

Giles’ knees nearly buckled, but then he seemed to regain control, holding himself off.

 

“Stop,” he commanded with unwavering sternness.

 

And while Spike was tempted to continue, he obeyed, sitting back and managing to bite back a satisfied smirk.  It had been awhile, but it was good to know that his skills hadn’t grown rusty.

 

“Go over to the bed, strip, and lay down,” Giles directed.

 

Again Spike obeyed.  Something in the way Giles held himself told Spike the man would hold with no arguments.  There was a time to resist and a time to concede, and this was the latter.   He toed off his boots, t-shirt and jeans following heedlessly after.  In theory, this should be incredibly awkward being completely naked with Giles, yet it felt almost natural.  The comforter was soft and warm as he lay down upon his stomach and waited.  He shouldn’t make it this easy for the Watcher, or fall back into old patterns so well, but it had been so long since he had given in without a fight or without pretense that it felt good.

 

The bed gave slightly as Giles joined him.

 

“I don’t think you’ve ever talked less,” Giles observed conversationally, roughened finger trailing down Spike’s back.

 

“There was that time when the Gentleman came to town,” he pointed out, trying hard not to arch into the touch.

 

“Even then you still managed never to shut up,” was the low chuckle.

 

“It’s a rare talent, what can I say?”  The last part was almost intelligible in the groan that escaped him when one cold, slick finger slipped inside him without warning.  “You don’t have to be gentle, you know.”

 

“I know,” Giles replied, working a second finger in alongside the first.  “Trust me, this isn’t for you.”

 

“‘Course not,” he groaned again as the fingers twisted just so.  “Not an idiot.”

 

“The jury’s still out on that one,” he could hear the smile in Giles voice as the fingers were removed, only to be replaced by insistent pressure.  Warm flesh, firm yet soft, slowly gained entrance, sliding in a fraction at a time.  Fingers wrapped around either hip, lifting and pulling Spike against Giles while he pushed in.

 

A part of Spike wondered how he’d ever be able to live this down, but for the moment he felt too good to care.  Invaded and full.  It was a sensation he craved but would never willingly admit that he desired.

 

“Fall asleep on me back there?” he twisted his head to try and see Giles, who now lay heavily against his back.

 

“There’s no rush, is there?” his companion asked, sounding almost seductive.

 

“Not really, no,” Spike admitted.  Again, he wanted this, too, the stillness of connection.

 

Then Giles began to move, sliding out and in with measured strokes, every so often hitting just right.  As the rhythm progressed, Spike began to move as well, meeting the other man’s thrusts halfway.  It built slowly to a fever pitch.  When Giles was on the verge, one of the hands left Spike’s hips and wrapped around his cock, stroking in counterpoint to the thrusts.

 

Hot and tight and full.  The grip wasn’t hesitant, but familiar as Giles built him up with quick, steady, practiced strokes, calluses creating a wonderful friction as he stroked.   Amazingly, the Watcher held out until Spike came, following shortly after to jerky completion.

 

They both collapsed and lay there in silence, until Giles slipped out and rolled onto his back.  Turning over to his side, Spike studied the Watcher as he gazed at the ceiling.

 

He looked at Spike finally, “What?”

 

“Nothing,” he snorted.  “Only on a Hellmouth, though, eh?”

 

“You could say that,” his companion chuckled.  “For once I’m actually glad you stopped by.”

 

“Yeah?” Spike grinned in spite of himself.  “Just don’t get in the habit of expecting this every time I pop in.”

 

“Routine can get very dull,” Giles agreed.

 

Quiet descended again.  Finally, Spike decided it was time he headed out.  Getting up, he went to his pile of clothes and got dressed.  Giles said nothing the entire time.

 

Spike was almost to the door when Giles called after him, “Switch off the stereo on your way out, would you?”

 

“Since it is on my way...” he replied.  He was going to leave, but turned back once more.  “Happy Birthday, Rupert.”

 

Spike was nearly to the bottom of the stairs when the simple “Thank you” reached his ears.

 


End file.
